Bayou has changed so much recently. There is now the wonderful Fifolet, the backyard venue where I heard Bohemian and Zippedy Zabelin perform some great music. (Zippedy Zabelin, aka “Dr. Zip,” will give a concert there this Saturday at 1:00 PM.) Fifolet makes me not miss Swamp Manor so much. It is a great place to just hang out. I always enjoy watching the puppet theater, and the cats seem to enjoy it too.
I heard a rumor about a new establishment and decided to go check it out. I found it at the east end of the railroad tracks: the soup kitchen of the Cloche du Chat, in an old church building. The sign told me that there was free food and that I could go upstairs to make a wish. Upstairs was a bell that I couldn’t resist ringing. It gave me a fish!
Sitting at the nice desk on the porch was very relaxing with the view of the bayou outside. I wrote a note to Cybele Snowpaw, the proprietor here, asking her some questions that she was kind enough to answer:
Welcome back. Niki told me you used to live here years ago.
Thanks muchly! And yes, that’s right. I washed up onto the banks of the bayou in days of yore—and after having a great time shooting zombies and drinking from barrels and being slumped on porches, I became a wandering recluse for reasons only guessed at. I’m still guessing.
Is there a reason this soup kitchen is a church?
Well, apart from the abandoned church having already popped up and then gone peregrinating and then decided to return by special summoning—he who was and is and always shall be Fatty the King of Kitties, decided to annex it to his boundless realm. And by his grace (and at the kind suggestion and through the bountiful arts of Miz Nikita Weymann), he decreed that there should be a place where wanderers and dreamers and ne’er-do-wells can all nap and chase their tails after receiving a bit o’ some steaming potage to soothe the savage hungry beast within.
Miss Cybele Snowpaw
There is no life without kitties. Also—to bear tribute to he who was and is and always shall be (etc.) Fatty the King of Kitties. He came from parts unknown to rule for eight auspicious years (as has been recorded in worthy books of history), and then he succumbed to kidney degradation deriving from a poor but preferred diet of curried garbage, leaving many loyal hearts bereft. Now, thanks to la Cloche du Chat and his remaining retinue and his beneficence, a tasty but health-giving meal of jambalaya and raw seafood is available to all.
Nice touch with the church bell that gives wishes and fishes. How come?
Oh, thank you. Well, Fatty, in his most recent lifetime, was a great granter of wishes. He himself was a wish granted, or rather he decided after turning up and taking over that he was exactly what one would wish for—and now that all the catch belongs to him in his present expanded being, he figures that no one who appeals to him for their heart’s desire should leave without a fish in the hand, that being better than two noisy birds in the bush. And about the bell, well, he’s just a big old romantic who loves a good sonorous thing in a pretty golden form.
I guess I have a new place to relax, one where I feel safe. See you on the bayou!
The Ghost of Liza Veliz fell in love with New Toulouse at first sight. She publishes books by various authors; find them at her reading cafe on Shotgun Row. She also operates a bookstore and tattoo parlor in Gloryville, at the corner of Royale and Rossignol.